I can’t speak. I press my forehead against his jaw and close my eyes. The organ has begun to toll from within the church.
“It ends this weekend,” he vows. “I swear to you, dikarka, on my father’s grave, that on Sunday morning, when you wake up, that man is going to be in the ground, and you are going to be free. We both are.”
I lean into his shoulder. “Promise me again.”
You are going to be free.
The Plaza ballroom is doing its best impression of a Disney movie tonight.
I, meanwhile, am doing my best impression of a woman whose husband is not slated to die before dessert.
Senator Josiah DeMaris has spared no expense for his daughter Tabitha’s wedding. The ceiling is festooned with crystal chandeliers, and below them, ten thousand white roses have been wrestled into the shapes of arch
